“Any action I took was under orders and for Queen and country,” Jethro said, forcing a yawn. “You killed for money. You’re no better than an average hit man.”
“Oh, I’m much better than average,” Fletcher said, stretching his neck as if they were just catching up with each other. “As you know. Still. Mum was stronger than I believed. She lasted just a few seconds longer than I’d planned.”
The words pierced to Jethro’s soul, so he smiled. “You cut Mum in the kidney and liver, but she held on long enough to try to protect you. You’re not as good at timing as you’d hoped.”
Fletcher lost the smile and his eyes started to glitter. “Well, at least that frigid bitch served one decent purpose in her life. She did get a deathbed promise from you to keep our name out of the press. Just think how much easier that made escape for me.” He drummed his fingers on the desk the way he’d done as a child.
Jethro’s throat went dry. “You know there’s a special place in hell for someone who kills for money, as well as one for a degenerate who kills his own mother.”
“Oh, Brother. You’ll be there before I will,”Fletcher said.
Jethro eyed him. “Is that a new scar by your temple?”
“Yes. Prison isn’t the vacation one might imagine,” Fletcher said easily. “The otherbloke is dead.”
“Ihave no doubt.”
Fletcher leaned over and typed into his keyboard. “I must run, Brother. But here’s a present for you.”He disappeared.
Jethro shook off his anger and opened the email that had just arrived, clicking on another link.
Then his blood stopped completely.
A video of Gemma facing someone across a table in a diner came up. She was smiling andseemed at ease.
Jethro was on his feet in a second, the phone in his hand. “Wolfe? I need help.”
Chapter Nineteen
Gemma tiptoed out of Trudy’s room and partially shut the door. The girl was exhausted after their big-girl restaurant time; they’d have to take bathsin the morning.
She sighed and stretched her arms over her head, still musing over the phone call with Monty. Her pajama bottoms pulled tight on her body, along with her tank top. Could she trust that Monty had moved on? The woman in the picture did seem to be his type, and if the brunette had truly caught Monty’s eye, he’d be fully focused on her. He didn’t know about Trudy, so maybe there actually was a chance for freedom?
What wouldthat feel like?
Perhaps she could stay and earn her doctorate while teaching. She’d talk to Serena and see if there were any openings at the university. How much fun would it be towork with her?
How possible might it be to see Jethro Hanson? Did she want that? Although his emotions had been in control, he’d been deadly the other night. If he ever turned on her, he could kill her in a second. She wished she didn’t have to take such thoughts into account, but there wasn’t a choice.
She rubbed her freed hair, grateful she’d been able to ditch the wig. Her eyes felt scratchy even though she’d removed the dark brown contacts. It was nice to be herself for abrief moment.
The storm howled outside and thewind screamed.
She shivered and moved to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of Prosecco. Just one would help her relax and get some sleep. A movement sounded at the front doorand she paused.
Simultaneously, the sliding glass door at the back of the house opened smoothly and a man’s large black boot became visible beneath the blinds.
Panic manacled her. She jumped and dropped her glass, turning to run toward Trudy’s room.
Both locks on the front door disengaged at once and the heavyoak swung open.
She skidded across the wooden floor, her arms flailing, her mind trying to process whatwas happening.
“Gemma.” Jethro stepped inside, snow blowing around his legs and his hair ruffled by the wind. He stopped cold, his head rearing back. His eyes darkened as his gaze careened over her natural hair to land at her eyes. Hervery blue eyes.
She gaped, her breath panting out. Almost in slow motion, she turned to see a mammoth of a man kick past the blinds and calmly shut the sliding glass door by the breakfast nook.
His dark hair was windblown too, and his chest was wide enough to count as a mountain. He wore jeans and a leather jacket, a gun strapped to his muscled thigh. He cocked his head. “Thought you saidshe was blond.”
